


dissonance-driven explorations of dissonance

by thermodynamicActivity (chlorinetrifluoride)



Series: The Collegestuck 'Verse [46]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Humanstuck, Infidelity, Islamophobia, One-Sided Attraction, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-07 05:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10352853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chlorinetrifluoride/pseuds/thermodynamicActivity
Summary: The year is 2017.Your name is Terezi Pyrope, you are a police officer, and you watched your best friend get arrested for doing next to nothing wrong. You have principles - you think - but you're no longer sure if they're the right ones. Does upholding unjust laws make you evil? Aradia Megido, your friend of many years, assures you that things are not that black and white.Your name is Vriska Serket. You've been arrested and banged around by the system over the last few days, and all you want to do is jump on your damn motorcycle and start taking off for nowhere. But where would you go? You crash at Aradia's, even if you can't understand why she doesn't hate you anymore.Your name is Aradia Megido, and you pick Vriska up from central booking, and invite her to stay with you: a spur of the moment decision. You've watched her in college. She's not nearly the menace she once was. As an afterthought, you also invite Terezi over for a few nights. She's taking time off from work, and she doesn't want to go home and admit it to her parents.





	1. you have to disagree with everything

**Author's Note:**

> while this fic is going to technically turn into aravrisrezi in a few chapters, the main ship is between aradia and vriska.  
> so, uh, yeah.  
> hope you enjoy reading.

**March 2017 - Terezi Pyrope**

You saw her get arrested at the International Women’s Day protest, after she threw her water bottle at the cops, at your fellow members of the NYPD. She saw you watching her. She made eye contact and everything.

“Terezi,” she mouthed, before they pinned her to the ground. They came after her companion, Meenah Peixes, next. She stared at you for one more significant moment, as if asking you not to let them arrest Meenah.

Meenah has a child, after all. Something greater than herself to safeguard.

“Vriska,” you replied, not loud enough for her to hear, but Vriska saw you mouthing the syllables and thought you might be her salvation.

But you did nothing. You watched as they loaded them into the police van and said nothing. You’d known Vriska for twenty years, and said nothing. Just let them improvise zip ties into handcuffs and load her inside.

You like to think that you are a woman of principles. And maybe you are. But, true as that could be, maybe you developed the wrong principles over the years. Latula became a public defender, jumping to help those who could not afford legal support.

And you, Terezi? You became a cop.

Sure, you caught people who needed to be caught. Murderers, and assaulters, and abusers.

But this was an act of civil disobedience. Civil disobedience is not a crime.

You think back to Mr. Vandayar’s class and how most acts for civil rights were criminalized initially.

So you go to Aradia’s with a fifth of gin and drink it while she listens.

You’re looking for her to absolve you of what you’ve done. But she thankfully isn’t like that. She watches you carefully, and occasionally answers when you need an answer. And when you need a pick-me-up, she plucks one of her corvid skulls off her bookcase.

"Alas, poor Yorick," she starts out. "I knew him, Terezi."

You give her a shadow of a smile and shake your head.

“I did the wrong thing,” you tell her.

Aradia shrugs, all childhood hatred of Vriska seemingly forgotten.

“She doesn’t have a police record. They’ll release her in three days, max. Sollux has been hauled down to central booking before. They rarely kept him longer than 72 hours.”

“I got my friend arrested,” you reply, willing the room to stop swaying.

You definitely drank too much gin tonight.

“Did you arrest her yourself?” Aradia asks, draping a blanket over your shoulders. You’ve been shivering since you came over, apparently.

You shake your head.

“Then you didn’t get her arrested. You were following orders.”

Just following orders. Just following orders. That is the excuse perpetrators of heinous human rights violations use as they walk backwards into hell. It is not an explanation, it is a way to dodge blame.

“You have a choice,” Aradia goes on. “You got high enough on your LSATS to get into any law school you want. Do something with your life that involves less mental turmoil.”

“My job pays,” you say defensively.

Aradia unpins her hair so that all the looping curls fall around her shoulders. She folds her scarf neatly in front of her on the dining room table.

“More or less than your guilt?”

You want to tell her that it pays more. That for every protest from innocent people you have to halt, you’ve caught so many more people that deserve their punishment. But you don’t know.

You arrested Vriska. You’ve known her… since…

If you’re twenty-four, you’ve known her for almost twenty years.

* * *

 

**March 2017 - Vriska Serket**

They don’t keep you long in central booking. Well, they would have kept you longer, except Aradia Megido of all people got you out, for some unknown reason. Maybe so she can rub your face in it later.

You can’t resist a jibe toward her. You’ve been mocking her for far too many years for that.

“Nice hair,” you say. “Thought you were keeping it up ‘cause of your stupid religion.”

She opens the door to her car and lets you ride shotgun.

“My self-preservation instincts are greater than my beliefs. People who are dead don’t have beliefs.”

And that’s how you learn the story of how someone yanked her hijab off on the Q65 bus in November, before calling her every slur he could think of. Shortly after, she decided to stop wearing it. She figured that any benevolent god would forgive her for her this.

She brakes short on the FDR drive - and you, not wearing a seatbelt - almost slam your head into the window.

“And it’s not a stupid belief,” she adds. “This is my religion, Vriska, and I would like it if you respected it as such.”

You don’t want to respect anyone’s religion. Religion, in and of itself, is pretty idiotic as far as you’re concerned. But Aradia got you out of that godforsaken holding cell, and she’s probably driving you back to Queens, back to Aranea’s - to your sister’s house - so you owe her something. You can start by not mocking her beliefs.

You swallow until your mouth feels dry, and then you find it in you to ask a question.

“Did Meenah get out?”

Aradia nods and shifts gears.

“Porrim did the honors, and got her released,” she informs you. “She wasn’t at the demonstration because she was at work.”

Figures. Porrim fucking Maryam. Scuse you. Porrim Peixes. You know you shouldn’t hate her for being married to Meenah, but you do.

You’d make a better girlfriend to her, maybe even a wife, and you know it.

Meenah, for her part, rebuffed a lot of your old advances because you were four years younger than she.

Age is a just number, as far as you're concerned, though, and you’re going to be twenty-four in October. The difference between twenty-four and twenty-eight, as opposed to seventeen and twenty-one, is not nearly as wide. 

You hate everything.

“Well, that’s good,” you reply.

Aradia gives you a sidelong glance as she drives across the RFK bridge.

“You don’t seem to think so,” she says.

“It’s fucked up of me,” you start out. “But I’m really jealous of them. I really like Meenah.” You gesticulate wildly. “A lot.”

Aradia switches lanes. “It’s not fucked up. It’s human.”

“Maybe I’m trying to be a better person than I was when I was younger,” you offer.

Aradia nods.

“I think you’re doing a decent job,” she replies.

“Do you really?”

“You care about what other people think of you,” she says. “You don’t want to hurt anyone, even if it might help you out in the long run. You’ve changed.”

“I’m the same awful person I was when I was twelve, you know.”

“The fact that you acknowledge that you were an awful person suggests otherwise.”

“That’s just pointing out the truth,” you counter.

Aradia smiles faintly, even as she continues driving.

“You apologized to Tavros in 9th grade. You apologized to me in 10th grade. The person you were earlier wouldn’t have apologized for anything.”

“It was the right thing to do! It was the least I could do!” you protest. “If I hadn’t goaded Tavros to jump off that roof in 7th grade, he’d still be able to walk! And I almost killed you in 9th grade! Of course I apologized!”

Instead of getting off the highway at 20th Ave, she keeps driving to Linden Place.

“Where are we going?” you want to know.

“My house,” she replies.

“Don’t you live with Sollux?”

Aradia gives you an impish little smile of commiseration. “He’s good at rolling with whatever happens. And he's in California, at the moment.”

You shake your head.

“Sollux hates my guts.”

“He hated your guts in high school,” Aradia says. “Now he’s just… wary of your guts. Y’know, along with the rest of you.”

You think for a moment.

“I don’t want to start an argument between the two of you.”

“The argument should be fairly short, if he comes back early,” Aradia says. “I’ll just explain to him a friend of mine is staying with me for now.”

“A friend of yours?” you ask incredulously.

“You are a friend of sorts, Vriska. As long as you behave yourself, everything should go smoothly.”

“Do you really expect me to behave myself?”

She gives you a peck on the forehead and nods.

“I expect you to try,” she responds. “For me. Don’t let me down.”

Your head tingles at the point of contact. Your heart does weird things in your chest. Aradia finds parking and unlocks your door. When she offers you her hand to take, so you can get out of the car, you don’t protest. You gaze at her again. Pale skin, tired, reddish eyes, and a mop of curly black hair.

You don’t want to owe her. But you don’t want to go to Aranea’s. You don’t see any other choice.

And if Sollux decides to say douchey things to you, you can give as good as you get.

But you don’t want to upset Aradia. You owe her. You’ve owed her for the better part of ten years.

So you’ll be good, at least as good as you can be.


	2. the merely beautiful ninths

**March 2017 - Vriska Serket**

Being that your sense of decorum is more underdeveloped than your conscience, rather than getting dressed before you start making the oatmeal you found in Aradia’s cabinet, you go through the entire exercise wearing nothing but the towel you used to dry off when you got out of the bath.

Aradia comes out of her room wearing her nightgown, her hair still uncovered. And instead of blushing or stammering or doing anything you’d think a religious young woman would do in this situation, she points out that you added too much water to the mixture. At this rate, you’ll have soup, not breakfast. But she says it kindly enough that you don’t think she’s trying to be mean.

The towel around your waist starts to fall, and you have to shut it again. She looks at you for a few seconds, and then looks away.

“Were you trying to get a rise out of me with that?” she asks, once she’s fixed the oatmeal.

Well. You sort of were. But your entire life’s kind of been centered around getting a rise out of people. She’s hardly unique.

You don’t nod, though. Almost petulantly, you sit down at the kitchen table. You make sure the towel’s still covering your bottom half. You don’t need to make her even more uncomfortable than you must have. She helped you out and you’re still trying to screw with her, even if it's a minor thing.

Aradia takes the seat next to you, and adds a few raspberries to her bowl. She passes the container to you.

“Do you want any, Vriska?”

“Yeah, thanks.” You dump half the container of raspberries into your oatmeal, and stir them in. You think of your motorcycle again, which Terezi dubbed The Death Machine. “Besides, if I _really_  wanted to get a rise out of you, I’d take you for a ride.”

You haven’t done that since 2012, when you were undergraduates, you both needed to get back to campus from northern Queens in some ungodly small amount of time, and you decided the speed limit on the highway was nothing more than a friendly suggestion.

She laughs at you, leaning forward on the table, her face propped up with one hand.

She reaches toward you, and you barely stop yourself from leaning back. Apparently some of your hair worked itself free from the bun you put it in when you got in the bath. She just wanted to fix it. And she does.

You spend the day going to your actual house, mostly so you can pick up some clothes and get the fuck out again, before Aranea comes back. Your leather jacket is still hanging in the closet. You put it on, even if it's too cold for you to be wearing it. This is the greatest article of clothing you have ever and will ever own. You sling your musette bag over your shoulder, and walk downstairs into the garage.  

Your motorcycle's still parked there. Good.

You zip back to Aradia's and hope the cops aren't actually giving speeding tickets around here. That's the last thing you need today.

At least she gave you her spare set of keys to the apartment. 

You buy a pizza on your way back, so Aradia can actually eat something when she gets home from work - she's like, an adjunct professor, or something - and decide you've done your good deed for the day. Good deed for the year, more like. You watch Evil Dead on the couch and inhale some of the food you've bought.

When she walks into the living room, her keys jingling in her hand, she takes one look at you - you're half naked, as usual - and one look at the pizza, and snorts.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself."

You pick up a slice and offer it to her.

"C'mon, it's halal and everything," you inform her.

"Is that so?"

"I asked the guy like twenty fucking times," you reply. "If it's not, I'll kill him myself."

"I doubt that'll be necessary."

She does give you a minor amount of shit when you decide to light up a cigarette in her apartment. So you put on her bathrobe, and smoke outside, supremely disgruntled all the while.

At night, when you get ready to go to sleep, you and Aradia share the same twin sized bed. She watches some program on her laptop, and you try to find a comfortable position to sleep in. You didn’t bring much in the way of sleepwear, so you’re down to your sports bra and a pair of bike shorts.

You face the wall, thinking. About how you got arrested and Terezi did nothing. About how Meenah is still happily married. But when she and Porrim were arguing, you were the first one she called. Not your sister. When she didn’t get the lead role in productions because of her skin tone, you were the first person she vented at. You even had sex with her a few times, in her senior year of college, before she unceremoniously ended things because you were seventeen and she was twenty-one. And because she already had a girl, even if they were in an open relationship.

What you two did should have counted for something, right? That should have meant something, right? Is this your punishment for stringing certain people along? Being unable to get one of the few people you’ve ever really felt something for?

Negativity swirls around, and around, and around in your head like a tornado.  

Aradia switches the bedside light on and shakes your shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

You roll over to face her, and you decide to be frank.

“My best friend did nothing when I got arrested, and I have a thing for a married woman.”

You expect Aradia to have some words of wisdom. She’s Sollux’s fiancee. Surely she’s put up with enough of his histrionic crap over the years to have something reassuring to say in the face of whiny bullshit. Instead she turns down the volume on her program and sighs.

“Well, that sucks. I’m sorry.”

You scoot over so that you’re practically nose to nose with her. When she exhales, you feel the warmth on your face. It’s… nice. You haven’t been this near to someone in ages. You have a knack for pushing most people away before they get this close. But Aradia doesn’t turn away. She gazes at you, measure for measure, with her reddish brown gaze. You can count every single one of her eyelashes from here.

You wonder what it would be like if she were to kiss you, or something like that. You remember sophomore year of college, you and her on the Death Machine, her holding onto you for dear life, and idly wondering the same exact thing. You tug on one of her curls, watch it extend, and then spring back.

“You’re telling me,” you reply.

You’re not surprised when she doesn’t pull away.

But you are surprised when she puts her hand on your face.

Then, she kisses you. You lean into her and kiss back. Eventually, you two separate, and you’re thankful that the room is mostly dark, because your face is probably red.

“What’d you do that for?” you want to know.

Aradia takes a good ten seconds to respond.

“You seemed like you could use something like that,” she explains. “Although I’m sorry if I took advant--”

You start laughing so hard that your sides begin to ache.

“You didn’t take advantage. I was hoping you’d do that.”

She shakes her head at you.

“You and your ulterior motives.”

Why is she so pretty, and soft, and nice? Ignoring the time she punched you in 9th grade, but you had that coming.

You want her to kiss you again.

She complains about insufferable women in leather jackets who smoke entirely too much. You decide that’s your cue to kiss her again.

She laughs into your mouth, and before you know it, you’re laughing again too.

When the bell rings at ten after one in the morning, you’re both almost sure it’s Sollux, even though he should be gone for another ten days.

You offer to answer the door anyway. Aradia asks you to put some actual clothes on, as if that doesn’t go without saying. You throw on one of her sweaters over your shorts, and answer.

“I need to talk to you,” comes the voice in the hallway.

It’s not Sollux at the door, it’s Terezi. You can’t decide whether that’s a good thing or not, at the moment.

Then, Terezi's nose wrinkles. You weren't whom she was expecting.

“Vriska,” she says, at a loss for other words. She gives you a wan, nervous smile, wafting up a faint aroma of gin and tonic. “How are you?”

You should reply with something understanding. You should keep in mind that Terezi was just doing her job. She couldn’t have intervened to keep you out of trouble without getting in trouble herself. Still, you say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Well, I’m not in a holding cell anymore, so that’s a nice change,” you fire back.

Terezi nods, gravely.

“I didn’t mean for any of that to happen,” she says.

Terezi is somewhat intoxicated, and right then and there you decide that this is awful. She went out drinking with her coworkers after her tour ended, and now she’s mildly wasted and whatnot. You have a one drunk friend limit, and you're already close to Roxy Lalonde.

You turn aside so she can come into the apartment. For her part, Aradia doesn’t look in the least bit surprised to see her.

“I asked for time off,” Terezi says to her, more than to you. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

You and Aradia guide her over to the couch. She sits down and puts her face in her hands, but doesn’t cry. Terezi cries about once every five to ten years.

And you’re still angry at her, but you don’t want to be. She is your best friend. Yes, you two were on different sides, and it ended poorly for both of you - for you, more than her. But… still.

Maybe you can try this whole greeting thing again, but nicer this time.

“D’you want some tea or something?” you ask Terezi.

“That would be nice.”

Aradia puts on the electric teakettle, and while she’s waiting for the water to boil, she sits down next to Terezi.

“I guess you’re taking me up on my offer, then,” Aradia says.

What offer?

Terezi nods.

“Just until I figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life,” she replies.

Aradia explains to you that she also offered Terezi somewhere to crash for the time being. You’d be vaguely pissed off about her not telling you until now, but you’re tired of being pissed off. Shit happened. Shit always happens. It’s practically a universal constant.

And, with her cup of tea in her hand, Terezi does begin to cry. She apologizes to you for everything, about forty times. You throw an arm around her shoulders.

Aradia stands there as if she isn’t quite sure what to do.

“C’mon, Terezi,” you say in a tone that you hope is reassuring. “We’re good. The Scourge Sisters aren’t going down that easily.”

She smiles weakly, and takes a few cursory sips from her cup of tea.


	3. another kind of silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still navigating the aradia/vriska part of this.  
> don't worry, i haven't forgotten about terezi.  
> the chapters should be getting longer than 1200 words after the next chapter.

**March 2017 - Aradia Megido**

Your name is Aradia, you're in your bed, and one of your hands is tangled in your hair. You think Vriska’s hand had been there before, but now it’s not.

You awaken properly to the smell of coffee drifting into your room. Neither Vriska nor Terezi is in your bed. You check the clock on your desk. 7:21 AM. Terezi works from 8 to 4, so she must have left already.

You stretch, yawn, and get out of bed, after considering the thought of going back to sleep for another hour. You have a class to teach at 1, a Skype call to make to Sollux at 10:30, and grading to finish before then. You get out of bed.

Vriska’s ironing a dark blue blazer in your kitchen. One that matches the skirt she’s hung on a hanger on the bathroom door. She pours herself a cup of coffee, and stops ironing for long enough to drink some of it.

“Going somewhere?” you ask.

“Work,” she replies.

And before you can stop yourself, you ask, “dressed like that?”

Vriska rolls her eyes.

“Don’t look so surprised, Megido,” she says. “Eridan got me a job as a receptionist at his father’s office on the Upper East Side. Business professional, and all that.”

You nod, and stop yourself from giving a great snort. “I forgot Eridan had a father.”

Vriska laughs, a genuine laugh, and offers you some coffee.

“Yeah, so did the rest of us. That fucker was always overseas anyway,” she goes on. “I ask you, what kind of parent would trust Cronus to watch anyone?”

You grin. “A stupid parent.”

“Duh.”

It feels odd when she references your childhood, the childhood where you two were friends. The childhood you spent in that park in Whitestone, playing cops and robbers and shit-talking every high school student you knew except for Damara, Latula, and Rufioh. You, Vriska, Terezi, Calliope, Tavros, and Eridan. Eridan, especially, since his parents were across the world. He never had a curfew. Most of the time, he went home with either Vriska or Tavros.

(Team Charge, you think wistfully. How long ago was that? When was the last time Tavros’s legs worked?

You’re no longer angry at Vriska for that dare. Anger doesn’t turn the clocks back.

Besides, Vriska seems far more angry at herself than you could ever be at her.)

Everyone except for you attended the Catholic school a few blocks away. You attended Al-Mamoor until 7th grade, and Damara had to take the bus with you to Jamaica to make sure you got there in one piece. It was really because you’d begun wearing the headscarf, and this was during the height of the war on terror. She didn’t want anyone to harass you, because you weren’t like her. She could fight quite well, and would fight someone over provocation.

Even so, you think things might have been simpler then. Sure, you and Vriska never quite got along that well, and you were always worried about being called things on mass transit, but you had fun, anyway. Your friends ate pizza from the pizzeria on 14th, and you ate whatever lunch your parents and/or Damara had packed for you.

“Are you gonna drink your coffee?” Vriska wants to know. “Or are you just planning to stare into the cup all day?”

You sigh.

Yes, Vriska has changed. But she’s still Vriska.

After she finishes her coffee, she hands you an envelope full of fifty dollar bills, and you gaze at her, perplexed.

“For letting me stay here,” she explains. “I can’t imagine you’re enjoying this.”

“I’m not upset about it,” you reply. You don’t even try to count the money now. “I actually offered to let you--”

“People offer a lot of things, to be kind,” Vriska says. “And then, they change their mind. Money tends to prevent that from happening. Besides, Sollux will come back at some point.”

You’re not following her line of logic.

“And?” you ask.

“And, this way you can tell him that I gave you my entire paycheck as rent money,” she says. “It makes more sense than you thinking I’m a nice person, or you being a nice person, or some other nonsense.”

You guess that makes sense. You still want to know why she doesn’t want to be in the same room as Aranea, but you figure that has to do with Meenah, and thinking about all that sort of thing is kind of depressing.

You were all in high school when Meenah broke off their relationship, and Vriska didn’t show up for school for almost a week after. When she did, she was swaying and slurring and had clearly been supplementing her lunch with whatever 70 proof swill Roxy brought to school that day.

But Roxy had cut down on drinking by then.

So Vriska had purchased her own 70 proof swill from the liquor store on Kingsbridge.

You remember sitting two seats away from her in AP Lit and listening to her murmur her way through half of T.S. Eliot’s _The Wasteland_ \- not slurring too badly - while Mrs. Levin-Vandayar looked on with vague concern.

 _“...What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow_  
_Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,_  
_You cannot say, or guess, for you know only_  
_A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,_  
_And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,_  
_And the dry stone no sound of water…”_

You think of Eridan in 14th Ave park, infatuated with Vriska until college. But he got over her, and - or maybe he didn’t, maybe that was how she got her job - didn’t self-destruct. He’d already self-destructed in high school.

Vriska gets properly dressed, her blouse covering her tattoo. You walk into the kitchen, and see a bowl of fava beans soaking on the counter. You don’t question it. She transforms herself from someone who looks like trouble into someone who belongs on the Upper East Side, with all the opulent buildings, and all the well-dressed people.

“You look nice,” you say to her.

Her smile is slow to come, but when it does, you think it might be able to light up a room.

It’s like Sollux smiling. Rare and beautiful.

She takes a seat beside you on the couch - while you are grading - and puts her head on your shoulder. You throw an arm around her shoulders.

“I’m making dinner tonight,” she says. “After I get home. Terezi won’t be able to cook, and this is the least I can do.”

“Well, that explains the fava beans,” you reply. “You don’t owe me anything, you know. Really, you don't.”

"I do."

She shakes her head. You look for something to say that won’t make her uncomfortable.

“Have a good day at work, okay?” you ask. “And I’ll eat whatever you decide to make. But tomorrow, I’m cooking.”

Another smile. Fainter but still present.

“My father used to make this all the time when I was a kid. Ful Medames,” she says. “And I’m almost sure you can eat it, so...”

Her glasses have gone ever-so-slightly askew. You’ve been conditioned to notice this kind of thing. The effects of dating people who wear glasses. You straighten them. She barely moves the entire time, just keeps staring at you.

She cracks a joke about how creepy the skulls on the bookcase are, even pointing to a canine skull. You point out that whoever owned it is clearly not using it at the moment.

She laughs, breathy and high, still close to you.

Before you can rethink this course of action, you kiss her on the mouth. You’re not quite sure why you do. That's a lie. You do, because you want to.

The kiss deepens, and leaving her pinned between you and the couch. You take both of her wrists in one hand, and pin them down as well.

Her breathing evens out, and when you get a hand up her skirt, she starts trying to wriggle out of the garment.

Then, you start to think properly.

You must be wrinkling her clothing. She has to go to work. You need to stop doing impulsive things, Aradia.

When you finally let her up, she looks pretty much the same, but for the high color in her cheeks.

She says goodbye to you and walks out the door, not before giving you the mother of all grins. Score 2: Vriska. Score 0: Aradia.

Great.

Once she’s left, you try to grade. You get through two examinations, before you stop, and gaze at the ceiling.

“What on earth am I doing?” you ask.

You aren’t expecting a response, but nobody answers you.

Just look at you. You’re going to Skype with Sollux in a few hours.

In that time, you’re going to have to figure out something to tell him that doesn’t sound ridiculous.

You think you can. Probably.

You contemplate women with blue-black hair and leather jackets, and try to finish grading.


	4. indifference to static

**March 2017 - Aradia Megido**

You do love seeing Sollux, even if it’s over Skype, and he’s across the country. You’re not sure whether it’s your connection or his connection that's so bad - probably yours - since he’s a tad more grainy than usual.

“This company wants me to stick around,” he explains. “Just until they launch, and then I’ll be coming home, AA.”

“Makes sense,” you reply. You chew idly on your lower lip. “Don’t rush yourself on my account.”

“I won’t,” he promises. “How have you been doing the last few days?”

You could tell him the truth. You really could. But it strikes you as something that should be revealed when he returns, and not now. Not like this, where you can barely see Sollux’s grainy face.

You want to explain yourself, in person. You want him to be present when you explain yourself, because you will. You don’t think it’ll jeopardize your engagement, but it’ll definitely require a bit of explaining.

“Terezi and Vriska are staying with me for the moment,” you reply.

Sollux shoots you a skeptical glance. “Vriska? My condolences.”

“Yeah. But she’s actually being pretty okay about the whole thing. And you know how Terezi is.”

He grins. He was friends with her throughout high school and college. Two overachievers in something of a rivalry. You think she might have been salutatorian if Roxy hadn’t shocked literally everyone by getting the medal.

And you can’t help but feel that maybe if Terezi been a little more heterosexual, Sollux would have gotten involved with her. You wouldn’t have begrudged him this. You have an open relationship, and, besides, Terezi’s brand of humor was so like Sollux’s that you found yourself hanging out with her, just to hear what she had to say.

She always knew how to make you laugh.

“Vriska’s staying here because she got arrested recently,” you go on. “She doesn’t want to go home.”

Sollux snorts. “Why am I not surprised?”

“She got arrested at the women’s day protest. Meanwhile, Terezi’s like, uh…” You trail off for a bit. “She doesn’t know if she’s making the right choice, being a cop and all. So she took some time off.”

“Sounds dramatic,” Sollux replies.

You snort.

“Not particularly. The most dramatic part of it is figuring out how to fit three people into our bed.”

“Why not exile one of them to the couch?” Sollux asks. “Preferably Vriska.”

“The couch is across from the front door,” you counter. “If Vriska decided she wanted to get into trouble, she wouldn’t have to do much. I’ll be mad if she gets herself arrested again. This way, she has to get through me and Terezi if she plans to do anything.”

You know that she and Eridan were once fond of illegal substances, once. Eridan did the substances, and Vriska sold them - on and off.

“Good idea.” Sollux sighs. “At this rate, I’ll be home in fifteen days, and then we can figure out what’s what. Together.”

You smile at the thought of Sollux returning.

“I miss you, you know.”

“I miss you more than I can possibly say. You’d have fun lecturing my supervisors, given the hours I have.”

“Do you need me to yell at anyone?” you ask. “Are you taking your medication regularly?”

“Of course.” He raises a bottle of lithium carbonate - you think it's lithium from the pill shape - and takes two in front of you, just to reassure you.

You two talk for another twenty minutes, and when he hangs up, you try not to feel a little sad. Chances are he’ll call you either tonight or tomorrow morning.

But you have more important things to consider.

You finish grading your exams, get dressed, and hold your headscarf in front of you.

You sigh.

You call Terezi, and are pleasantly surprised when she answers her cell phone. She must be on break. This is the last day she has to work before she starts taking time off.

“Aradia? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” you answer. “I just wanted to know, if you were me, what would you wear to work today?”

“Whatever I wanted,” she says.

“You wouldn’t be afraid to wear something that might draw undue attention to yourself?”

“I would,” Terezi admits. “But I’d try not to let my fear dictate my actions. I’ve done that in the past. It’s not worth it, especially now.”

“That’s what I thought,” you say.

You begin to pin the scarf around your head.

“I can walk out of here now, and accompany you to work. I don’t think they’d write me up. And I don't think anyone would fuck with you if you were sitting next to someone in uniform.”

Terezi’s concern is nearly palpable. You think of one of the first times you _really_  spoke to her, and she asked you why you wore that headscarf. Then, she promised to kick the ass of anyone who decided to question you, because those people were encroaching on your rights. She would not see injustice perpetuated so easily.

“You don’t have to,” you reply. You secure the last of your pins. Everything hangs nicely. You're not out of practice, then.

“Text me when you get to work, alright,” she replies. “Let me know if anything happens.”

You survey your reflection, the red scarf embroidered with golden thread covering your head. Sollux got you that scarf, then had a minor episode of guilt when he realized aloud that he didn’t know if you could wear it. If it was too flashy. You assured him that you could.

So you will.

You will not be made afraid by the powers that be. Vriska refused to be afraid. Even Terezi… Terezi would protect you. Terezi has a sense of morality that transcends anything she learned at the police academy.

Therefore, you’ll be wary. You’ll be somewhat afraid. But you won’t let your fear dictate your life. Not now. Not anymore.

You grin at your reflection, at how completely  _right_ it looks.


	5. step by half-step

**March 2017 - Aradia Megido**

You’re tired after work. Two consecutive classes to teach, and then office hours. Not that your students exactly utilize your office hours. You basically spend them sitting in your chair in an Anthropology department office, trying to look busy, but more often playing solitaire on your phone.

However, one student came by to personally rip you a new one for giving him a 77 on his exam. He can’t get any C’s. He’s a pre-med. You might have been kinder if he legitimately had questions for you, but he walked in, guns blazing, and all but demanded a higher grade.

You raised an eyebrow and informed him that you didn’t give grades, he earned them.

Oh, how you used to hate hearing that as an undergrad. Now you know it’s true. For the most part, anyway.

This kid’s polar opposite showed up about twenty minutes before your office hours were set to end. He got around the same grade, but he wanted to know what he did wrong. So you pointed out where his answers were either lacking, or flat-out incorrect. He thanked you afterwards, and apologized for coming so late.

“Sorry about that, Professor Megido,” he said. “My last class just ended a half hour ago.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not a problem.”

As you take the bus home from the college, you sort of wish you had driven here. But parking is a bit of a nightmare at times, gas prices are ridiculous, and besides, the time spent on mass transit gives you time to think. Nobody tries anything untoward in your direction. You’re happy about that.

When you reach the landing for your apartment building, you can hear Terezi and Vriska bickering before you even get to the door.

“Yeah, that’s definitely burning, Vriska.”

“Like you’d be able to tell,” she fires back.

“Food burning is something you smell, in case you failed to notice.”

“Yeah, well, I’m the one with the experience making this,” Vriska says. “And I say it isn’t burning.”

“Do you have experience burning it, too?”

“Did I ask for your fucking opinion?”

“Do you ever ask for my opinion?”

“Once or twice a year. I like to change things up.”

A pause, maybe two or three minutes long.

Someone sighs.

“The beans at the bottom of the pot might be a little browner than they should be,” Vriska concedes. “But I can fix this.”

“Are you going to burn it even more?”

“Terezi, if I hear the word ‘burn’ come out of your mouth one more time, I’ll smack you.”

“Yeah, and I’ll dodge. Gonna need some ice for that _burn_.”

You try to laugh silently. 

“You can’t dodge forever.”

“Watch me.”

You unlock and open the front door. The both of them stop talking momentarily. You put your bag, keys, and coat on a nearby chair.

“What’s burning?” you ask.

“Dinner,” Terezi says. “Should I call for pizza now or should I wait for the fire department to get here?”

“I swear to fucking god,” Vriska says.

She tries to kick Terezi’s leg out from underneath her, but Terezi moves away a full half second before she makes the attempt. You grin.

“You’re burning dinner, and you got beaten by a blind woman,” Terezi points out. “You’re on a roll today.” At Vriska’s anger, she amends her statement somewhat. “Okay, you haven’t quite burned it yet.”

“Oh, so you admit it,” Vriska says triumphantly.

“Yes, I admit that if you don’t stop gloating and start stirring the beans, you’re going to burn our dinner.”

They get along a little better after that, which is odd, because they’re usually sniping at each other. Vriska continues to stir the beans, and Terezi stands over her shoulder so she can watch. They don’t really seem to notice you all that much. You don’t mind. It gives you time to get undressed and into more comfortable clothing.

They resume talking loud enough that you can hear.

“To be fair, even if you had burned it, it wouldn’t have been like the time Sollux, Karkat, Gamzee, and Tavros tried to make spaghetti and meat sauce,” Terezi says.

“They did what?”

“Okay, once upon a time, we were in college,” Terezi starts out.

“Well, fucking obviously,” Vriska replies.

“Once upon a time we were college sophomores,” she continues.

“I was a sophomore for two and a half years, so...”

“You know what I mean,” Terezi says. “Anyway, Karkat gets it in his head that he’s going to cook something for dinner.”

You poke your head into the kitchen.

“Was this the time they almost burned down their suite?”

Terezi frowns at you. “Way to spoil the ending. Anyway, Karkat starts boiling water for spaghetti. Impossible for anyone to mess up. Except he overcooked the spaghetti and a bunch of it ended up stuck to the bottom of the pot.”

“That’s not that bad,” you say. “I’ve done that before.”

“Okay, but, like, think to yourself, Aradia. Out of the four of them, who can actually cook?”

“Tavros and Gamzee,” Vriska responds.

“Which is why, due to their combined lack of good sense, Sollux and Karkat were doing the cooking,” Terezi goes on. “Sollux forgot you had to thaw the meat before you made the meat sauce, and Tavros was trying to give him instructions since he couldn’t get up to the stove himself, but Sollux was being his usual insufferable bastard self, so-”

“Sollux is not an insufferable bastard,” you protest. You think for a few moments. You change that statement around. “Okay, well, not all the time.”

Vriska and Terezi exchange glances.

“At any rate, Sollux was being an insufferable bastard, and he had gotten into his head that he was like, Master Chef, or whatever,” Terezi says.

“What did Tavros do about that?” Vriska asked.

“He did the sensible thing, and wheeled himself the hell out of the suite.”

All three of you share a laugh over that one.

“At the end of their grand experiment, there remained nothing but overcooked pasta, a tripped fire alarm, and scorched tomato sauce mixture that had taken on the appearance of lava,” Terezi says. “Gamzee put on some potholders, threw it in the garbage can, and it melted through the bag.”

You pause for a second to take that in.

“And that, my friends, is the story of how Sollux, Karkat, Gamzee, and Tavros - well, sorta - almost burned down their suite.”

“Why would they even make the attempt to cook?” Vriska wants to know.

“I don’t know how true this is,” Terezi begins. “It’s probably completely true, but allegedly Jade bet Karkat a hundred bucks that he couldn’t cook anything.”

Vriska rolls her eyes. “If that was all the bet was, he should have just microwaved a hot pocket, delivered it to her building, and then demanded his money.”

Terezi grins.

“Well, of course, you’d solve the problem that way.”

After dinner, you three play several dozen rounds of blackjack. It’s lucky for you that nobody’s wagering any money, because you get the distinct impression that Vriska is managing to cheat. Somehow. So is Terezi. You have no idea how one would cheat in blackjack, but if anyone could manage it, it would be those two.

It’s both better and worse when you switch to poker. Terezi just rakes in the hypothetical dough. Her poker face is absolutely air-tight. Meanwhile, everyone can tell when Vriska has a good hand, because she looks excited about it. You aren’t as bad as Vriska, but you are far from emotionless. You’re really only emotionless when something is wrong. Otherwise, you’re expressive and bright.

“Did everything go okay at work today?” Terezi asks you, during your second round.

“Just fine. Had an annoying student show up at my office hours.”

“You should have told him to fuck off,” Vriska says.

All of you look at her. She maintains what she has said.

“What? I would have told him to fuck off.”

Terezi puts an arm around her waist just the same.

“And that is why you will never be a professor.”

“If I had to be a professor, I would cut my own class every day,” Vriska says, poking you in the leg with her foot. You poke her right back.

You smile. “What if you didn’t have class every day?”

“I’d find a way.”

You lean forward - and after a few second’s thought - kiss her on the forehead. Vriska grins, and for a second you’re pleased with yourself. Then she opens her mouth.

“You realize that you just showed me all your cards.”

Oh. Well. That figures.

You call her an asshole and laugh anyway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something to look forward to, in either chapter 6 or 7.  
> \--
> 
> “You should come clubbing with us,” Vriska whines. “C’mon, it’ll loosen up the stick up your ass.”
> 
> You put your hands on your hips and stand your ground. You do not have a stick up your ass. You’re just not fond of being around an excessive number of people. Also, you can’t drink.
> 
> “First off, intoxicating substances are considered haram,” you begin. You’re not compromising your beliefs for a night out. “Second off--”
> 
> “No big deal,” Terezi says. “You don’t have to drink to come with us to a dyke bar.”
> 
> You put your head in your hands.
> 
> “First it was a club, and now it’s a dyke bar.”
> 
> “What about a club, and then a dyke bar?” Vriska asks, wiggling her eyebrows.


End file.
